It Belongs to You
by arysa13
Summary: Clarke isn't really thinking when she decides to put Bellamy's shirt on while he's out. She's not really expecting him to come home early either.


Clarke's Saturday night plans may not be everyone's idea of a good time, but honestly she's been looking forward to it all week. She's going to take a long bath then curl up on the couch in her pajamas, eat an entire pizza, watch a trashy movie or two on Netflix and probably be asleep before midnight.

It's not often she gets some decent alone time, and she figures since Bellamy has a date tonight she may as well make the most of the empty apartment. And yeah, she's not exactly thrilled that he's on a date, being that she's pretty much in love with him herself. But it gets exhausting being around him sometimes, having to pretend she's _not_ in love with him _._ So she's trying to act like it's a good thing that he's out, instead of at home with her where she really wants him to be.

The bath is nice, relaxing, but it doesn't _really_ help take her mind off Bellamy. She just keeps imagining what it would be like if he were in the bath with her, what she'd do to him, what he'd do to her. But then she remembers that he's on a date with someone else, and the bath is kind of ruined after that.

It's not that she thinks it's serious between him and the girl he's seeing tonight, she's pretty sure it's only their second date. (Okay, she's certain. But it's not like she's been keeping track or anything). It's just that, if he's on a date with someone else, it means he definitely doesn't feel the same way about her that she feels about him.

There was a month or so there that she thought maybe he did. He hadn't dated anyone for a while, and he was always flirting with her. But now she realises he must have just been having a dry spell, and the flirting was just some fun in the mean time. It's totally fine.

So Clarke extricates herself from the now lukewarm water and gently towels herself off. She's about to wrap the towel around her before heading to her room, but then she remembers she's home alone and she doesn't have to worry about anyone seeing her, so she hangs the towel up and walks to her room naked.

There's a pile of clean laundry in the corner of her room that she hasn't gotten around to folding and putting away yet, so she sorts through it, trying to find some one of the shirts she usually wears to bed.

"Where the fuck…" she mutters to herself, tossing pieces of clothing over her shoulder. She grabs a shirt then that she immediately recognises as not hers. It's obviously Bellamy's, it has his last name printed in big letters on the back, and smaller on the pocket on the front. She vaguely remembers him asking her a couple of days ago if she'd seen it.

"No, Bellamy, and I don't even know why you like that shirt," she'd told him. "It's so threadbare it's practically not even a shirt anymore. Just get a new one."

"But Clarke, I've had that since freshman year of college. I can't just get another one like it," he had complained. It's really just a plain white shirt with his name on the back on it, but it has some kind of sentimental value to Bellamy. Apparently all his friends were in some dumb club in college.

Of course, now he's going to think she's been hiding it from him because she hates it or something. Unless of course she doesn't tell him she found it. She could just throw it out. Or, you know. Keep it. 'Cause it is really soft and stuff. She can actually see why he likes it.

She doesn't know exactly what she's doing, or why she's doing it, but for some reason she's pulling it over head, as if she has any right to wear his clothes. He won't mind, right? In any case, he never even has to know. In fact, it's probably best if he doesn't, considering how this could definitely be interpreted as very creepy and would probably be very difficult to explain.

Still, she doesn't take it off. It's a comfy shirt, okay? Despite the fact that it isn't in the greatest condition. But the apartment is warm enough that the thinness doesn't bother her. And even though it was washed a couple of days ago, it still kind of smells like him, and for a second Clarke lets herself consider what it would be like if she was actually allowed to wear his shirts. You know, if she was his girlfriend or whatever. And everyone would know she's his girlfriend, what with his name on the shirt and everything.

But thoughts like that are dangerous, so she quickly banishes them from her head and proceeds to carry out her plan for the night, starting with ordering a pizza. She keeps the shirt on.

Half an hour later she answers the door, still only wearing Bellamy's shirt, and the pizza delivery guy is visibly flustered by Clarke's appearance, almost dropping the money Clarke hands him. Clarke laughs to herself as she shuts the door, glancing down at the shirt. The shirt itself isn't overly sexy, but in the delivery guy's defence it does show a _lot_ of leg, and while it isn't obvious that she isn't wearing any panties, it isn't hard to tell that she isn't wearing a bra. So she can hardly blame the poor guy.

Clarke takes the pizza over to the couch and plops herself down, opening up Netflix on her laptop and scrolling through the movies and shows she's added to her list to try and find something to watch. Settling on some period movie she's never heard of, but sounds like its sure to have a happy ending, she lets herself sprawl on the couch and starts shoving pizza into her mouth. After all, she's home alone. If she can't eat like a pig with her ass hanging out now, when else will she get the chance?

She's about halfway through the movie, the pizza long gone, when he hears the key in the lock. Panicking, she hastily manages to sit upright and pull the shirt down so all the important parts are covered before Bellamy walks in the door. She doesn't, however, have time to run to her room and hide all evidence that she'd even seen the shirt at all. _Why is he home so early?_

"Hey," he says, closing the door behind him before looking at her. Clarke is sure she looks guilty as hell, though technically she hasn't done anything _wrong_. She's just done something weird and creepy.

"You're home early," she says, trying to sound casual, but her voice comes out too high. Bellamy just stares at her.

"Is that my shirt?" he finally asks. Clarke looks down, though she knows very well it is his shirt. And she can't very well deny it, it says _Blake_ on it after all.

"Oh," she says. "I guess it is." She pauses. Then she decides the best course of action is to pretend nothing is out of the ordinary. "So, your date. Did it not go well or were you just feeling tired or—"

"Clarke," Bellamy interrupts her. " _Why_ are you wearing my shirt?" She can't quite decipher his tone. He sounds a little strained, his expression serious but mostly unreadable. Is he upset with her? Or just confused?

"It's not that big a deal," she says, standing up. "It's just a shirt."

"Right," Bellamy nods. "Don't you have your own shirts you can wear?"

"I guess so, god," Clarke says, getting defensive now. She thought maybe he'd find it funny, or freaked out at the very worst. She didn't think he'd be _annoyed_ at her. "I don't see why it matters that much. I found it in with my washing, I guess I accidentally threw it in with my stuff or something. I didn't think you'd care, but if you're that concerned about it, I'll take it off right now," she rants, trying to cover the fact that she feels like a complete idiot.

"Right now?" Bellamy sputters and Clarke is taken aback at how distressed he sounds.

"Well, I mean, not _right_ now," Clarke clarifies, trying not to sound as hurt as she feels. "I'm not wearing anything under it, I'll get changed in my room and then you can have your stupid shirt back."

"Right," Bellamy croaks, glancing away uncomfortably before his eyes land back on her and it's so fast she almost misses it, but she swears she sees his gaze flicker down her body, taking in her bare legs and protruding nipples. And she realises that maybe he's not upset after all. He's _turned on_ , and he doesn't know what to do about it. She decides to make him suffer. She heads towards her room, but then stops, turning around to see his eyes still trained on her.

"Your date though," she says again. "How did it go? Why are you home so early?"

"Hmm?" he responds vaguely. "My what?"

"Your date," Clarke repeats.

"Oh," he says. "Not so great. She doesn't think we're right for each other… why are you wearing my shirt again?"

"It looks good on me, don't you think?" she shrugs.

"Yeah, definitely," he agrees. "I knew it would." Clarke's mouth drops open just a little, and it takes Bellamy a second to realise what he's said, but then his eyes widen and he looks mortified. "I mean, not that I've thought about it or anything," he hurries to cover his slip. "At least, not in a sexual way."

"What other way is there?" Clarke asks. She wants to laugh, but she doesn't want to make him feel worse. She wouldn't blame him if he'd had sexual thoughts about her, after all, she's had plenty about him. Bellamy looks incredibly uncomfortable and seems to be lost for words.

"I—" he starts, then stops, looking at her helplessly. "Shit."

"It's okay, Bellamy," Clarke says reassuringly. "I've fantasized about you too," she admits, her face heating up a little, though she tells herself she's got nothing to be embarrassed about.

"You have?" He doesn't seem convinced. Clarke nods, a little shyly. There, they've both admitted to being attracted to each other and the world didn't end. They can still be friends after this, it won't be weird. "Sexual fantasies." He says it like a statement, but his eyes question her.

"Yes," Clarke says, as if it's obvious. She frowns at him in confusion for a moment while he looks at her, frustrated, as if he wants to say something but he's not quite sure how.

"Good to know," he says finally, a little flippantly, then he turns and stalks towards his room. Clarke stands there in shock for a second, wondering what she's possibly done to offend him now, before following him to his room.

"Bellamy!" she calls after him. "What is wrong with you tonight?" she asks as she barges into his room.

"Nothing," he snaps.

"It's obviously not nothing, so will you stop being such an ass and actually tell me what's bothering you?" Clarke demands. Bellamy glares at her.

"Fine. You know why my date went badly tonight?" he says.

"You said you weren't suited for each other," Clarke reminds him.

"My date said it was pointless trying to date me when I'm so clearly in love with someone else," Bellamy informs her.

"Someone…" Clarke trails off, confused.

"Apparently I spent the whole time talking about you," he says, his jaw tight. Clarke hesitates.

"Well, that doesn't mean—" she starts.

"Doesn't it?" Bellamy laughs humourlessly. "So, yeah I've had sexual fantasies about you. I admit it. And you look so fucking sexy in that shirt. But…" he hesitates, looking more unsure of himself. "But I've also had fantasies about you just sleeping in my bed. Getting a cat and moving to the country. Wearing a fucking wedding dress," he groans at his own admission before falling silent. "You didn't need to know all that. Sorry."

Clarke stares at him, overwhelmed, her heart feels like it's going to burst out of her chest. Then she's reaching for him, pulling him in to kiss him and he makes a sound almost like a whimper when their lips meet, like he can't really believe this is happening. Clarke almost can't believe it herself.

But then, there's no way she could imagine his tongue in her mouth so vividly, the weight of his big hands on her waist as he pulls her closer, the way her breasts press against his hard chest. She kisses him like that, for how long she doesn't know, but suddenly she's desperate for more, the contact between them not enough. She pulls back with some effort so she can remove the shirt she's wearing, but Bellamy doesn't want to let go so easily.

"What are you doing?" he murmurs.

"I thought I'd give your shirt back now."

"Leave it on," he tells her, then goes right back to kissing her. His hands aren't quite so well behaved this time though, much to Clarke's delight. He works one hand up under the t-shirt, his fingers feather-light against her inner thigh and then against her outer lips as he gently strokes her. He keeps kissing her, even as she shivers against him in anticipation.

"God," he groans into her mouth. "You really aren't wearing anything under this."

"I told you," she chuckles.

"You're so wet," he tells her, like she doesn't already know, as he lets the tip of a finger slide between her pussy lips.

"Uh huh," she says, kissing him again.

"Do you have any idea how turned on I was when I saw you wearing my shirt?" he murmurs, letting his index finger slide further into her.

"Mmhmm," Clarke replies, though she's not entirely sure what she's saying. Her brain isn't forming coherent thoughts with his finger slowly sliding back and forth between her legs, ever so slightly pressing on her clit each time.

"I never thought of myself as possessive but when I saw you wearing it, with my name on it, some caveman part of me thought of you as mine," he tells her, and she feels like she probably should be offended, but she wants to be his, and she wants him to be hers. He sinks his finger deep inside her, and then another and she whimpers.

"I'm yours," she promises.

"And I'm yours," he says softly, kissing her again.

"Bellamy," Clarke says when he pulls away. "Fuck me."

"I thought you'd never ask," he grins. He slips his fingers out of her pussy and starts pulling his shirt off while Clarke makes herself comfortable on his bed, laying back against his pillows, letting the shirt ride up to her waist.

"Hurry up," she demands and Bellamy groans as he takes her in. It doesn't really take him that long to rid himself of all his clothes, but it feels like an eternity to Clarke, the throbbing between her legs mourning the loss of his fingers inside her. But it's worth the wait when she sets eyes on his cock, big and hard and all for her.

He procures a condom from somewhere and rips the foil before rolling it onto his cock.

"Are you ready?" he asks her, finally climbing onto the bed.

"Yes," she says, her voice thick with lust. She lets her legs fall open and Bellamy hovers above her, his hands stroking her thighs. He rubs the tip of his cock against her entrance, coating himself in her juices and Clarke bucks her hips towards him, desperate to have him inside her. "Come on," she whines impatiently. He obeys her then, though he seems to have a satisfied smirk on his face as he enters her and she moans as her hips roll up to meet his.

"Good?" he asks her.

"Yes," she says immediately, ready to beg him to continue. She doesn't need to however, as he starts grinding his hips into her, his cock filling her completely. She murmurs a string of incomprehensible words as he fucks her, his name rolling off her lips repeatedly. She can feel herself getting close and the talking dies off.

"Clarke, are you almost there?" Bellamy asks, sounding strained.

"Uh huh," she moans.

"Come on, you can do it," he encourages her. "Come for me baby," he says, letting his hand fall between them to rub her clit, and then she's there, her orgasm rolling over her and Bellamy allows himself to come a second later.

"Fuck, you're perfect," Bellamy tells her as he lies down beside her on the bed. Clarke can barely speak so she just smiles at him. She allows herself a few minutes to recover and get her breathing back to normal before turning on her side to face him.

"So, when you imagined me in a wedding dress, I was getting married to you, right?" she grins and Bellamy groans.

"Forget I said that," he says.

"What does the dress look like?" she continues teasing, and Bellamy grabs a pillow and buries his face in it. "What colour is the house? Do we have a garden? What's the cat's name?"

"You can name the cat whatever you want if you stop it right now," he tells her, his voice muffled by the pillow. She pauses before getting serious.

"You know I love you, right?" Bellamy pulls the pillow away from his face.

"And I love you," he swallows.

"So, the shirt," Clarke says, looking down at it. "I can keep it now, right?"

"It belongs to you," Bellamy says with a smile, and Clarke knows they're talking about the shirt, but somehow it feels like he also means his heart.

"Don't worry, I'll keep it safe," she promises.


End file.
